


Zen and the Art of Dodging A Cockblock

by reliablemachine



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliablemachine/pseuds/reliablemachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur always picks up the phone when Cobb calls. Always. Even during sex. So when Arthur and Cobb are on a lengthy, long distance call about work, Eames gets his revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zen and the Art of Dodging A Cockblock

The first time Eames notices it, he also realises it isn’t the first time it’s happened.

They’re in room 412 — he and Arthur — in the evening during a job. Half an hour ago they were down in the hotel bar with Ariadne, clinking glasses and laughing about professors and movies and the crazy shit that crops up in people’s subconscious sometimes.

Ariadne left them to get back to her room, and now here they are, Arthur with his cheeks and long, long neck stained red and knees planted firmly in the mattress on either side of Eames’s waist, fucking himself back on Eames’s cock as Eames looks on with intense interest.

Eames is mumbling things he thinks are either filthy or endearing (it’s hard to tell when he’s lost the brain functions in charge of words), and Arthur’s nodding and sucking on his bottom lip and splaying a hand across Eames’s chest for better balance. There’s a heavy thudding coming from somewhere by Eames’s ear, and it takes him a few moments to realise it’s the headboard hitting the wall every time Arthur shifts his weight on top of him.

Eames is completely positive he could travel the entire world and never find something as beautiful as Arthur with his hair tousled and damp with sweat, muscles flexing with effort as he tries to control his movements against his body’s will.

Eames is also reasonably certain that there’s a very short list of things more infuriating than a tinny rendition of _Dies Irae_ coming from Arthur’s phone in the middle of fantastic sex.

One of the items on that list is Arthur stilling and _actually picking up the phone_.

“Arthur—“ Eames starts, breathy and incredulous, but Arthur shakes his head and answers the phone.

“Cobb,” he says, and now Eames knows who to put a hit on for this crime against humanity, so there’s that.

He’s never been an overly sentimental man, but he could see himself potentially weeping if Arthur doesn’t start moving again very soon, and the fact that Arthur’s voice sounds relatively untroubled despite the flush that’s still spread from ear to ear is very frustrating indeed. Arthur clenches around Eames and Eames’s head falls back and clonks against the wood of the headboard.

“Right, yes— yeah, I did it yesterday.” Arthur’s still talking, with short glances down at Eames every so often, and his hand is still on Eames’s chest but the pink on his face is receding, and Eames considers that a bad sign, so he twitches his hips and presses up into Arthur with a low noise. Arthur frowns and screws his eyes shut briefly, then climbs off of Eames and, much to Eames’s shock and displeasure, pads into the washroom with his phone, socked feet brushing quietly on the tile.

Eames lies in bed, sweat cooling on his forehead and libido ebbing dejectedly, and halfheartedly considers how best to dispose of Cobb’s body once he murders him for this.

##

Eames doesn’t like to brag unnecessarily (unless for reasons involving annoying Arthur at work), but the chicken cordon bleu he’s baking smells fucking amazing.

Maybe it’s Arthur’s oven. Maybe Arthur has some kind of overly-accurate super-oven that makes everything in it wonderful, because Eames is pretty sure whenever he tries this at his own flat, it smells like burned toast for a week afterwards.

Speaking of Arthur, he’s sprawled out on his couch with a glass of pinot noir, one foot on the edge of his coffee table, watching Bear Grylls create a fully habitable lean-to out of bamboo stalks.

This last job was tough, even Eames thinks so. It had worked out, but just barely, and Arthur had spent all of this morning destroying files and obtaining new legal documents for everyone on the team, then another eight hours on two planes back to New York (Arthur only flies non-direct when it’s absolutely necessary and the very last option; Eames is sure this is part of the reason for his present lethargy). When Eames had shown up at the door, dripping rainwater onto the hardwood, Arthur had frowned at him, but then Eames had held up a bag of groceries with a crooked smile and Arthur had let him in.

Eames has at least twenty minutes before he has to do anything else with the chicken, so he slides onto the couch beside Arthur until the sides of their thighs are pressed together.

Arthur’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that make his ass look succulent, and Eames thinks it’s unfortunate that he’s hiding it in the couch cushions so he puts his hands on Arthur’s back and presses his thumbs into the muscles under his shoulder blades. Arthur’s eyes close instantly and he leans back into Eames, head lolling slightly and sighing deeply.

“Don’t stop...” he murmurs when Eames moves to shift Arthur around until he’s between Eames’s legs, so Eames proceeds to knead into him and leans in to kiss the side of his neck. Arthur’s fingers skate around Eames’s knee and up his thigh and Eames licks his lips and nips at the skin between Arthur’s neck and shoulder.

Eames sees Arthur’s phone light up on the coffee table before he hears any noise, but Arthur jumps a little when _Dies Irae_ starts playing, and grabs the phone.

“Cobb,” he answers, and Eames shakes his head, unbelieving, and presses his forehead to the back of Arthur’s neck.

He might be able to forgive Cobb for this one, but only because they just got off a delicate job and it might be serious. When Arthur moves away and stands up, though, and wanders into the other room casually, Eames narrows his eyes after him and wonders when it became a part of Cobb’s job description to cockblock him constantly.

The oven timer goes off and Eames vows both to seduce Arthur after dinner and to change that terrifying ringtone as soon as possible.

##

“Put those back.”

“But they’re tasty. I’ll even make them for you.”

“They’re not on sale.”

“Arthur, they’re only ninety-nine cents.”

Arthur stares at Eames, mouth a thin line, until he gives in and puts the package of Mr. Noodles back on the shelf with a huff.

“You’re an arse. And cheap. And an arse.”

“Turn six already, please.”

They turn down aisle seven and Eames grabs Arthur’s hand and drags him to the milk and cheese section. He eyes the whipped cream and winks conspicuously and Arthur rolls his eyes but there’s the faint tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, and Eames grins at him and kisses his ear and tries to hold his hand.

Arthur’s always been a bit of a tight-ass when it comes to physical contact in public, despite Eames’s best efforts to rid him of any and all inhibitions, so Eames is pleasantly surprised when Arthur looks up and down the aisle covertly then leans in close to whisper in his ear: “We’d need cherries and chocolate sauce and ice cream and that sounds too much like hard work.”

Eames grins broadly and is about to honourably volunteer for the position of Grocery Gofer when Arthur’s phone rings in his pocket. Eames tries his best to glare but he’s still thinking about an Arthur sundae so it ends up more like a grimace, and Arthur turns to face the cheese on display.

“Cobb, hi.”

When he starts to walk away with the half-filled grocery basket, Eames purses his lips and stalks to the next aisle to rebelliously steal some Mr. Noodles.

##

The headquarters Arthur has secured for this job is a lot nicer than some of the other places they’ve had to work from. It’s a loft above an abandoned deli and there are actually a few separate rooms, and a couch, and there’s even a little mat by the stairs to the first floor that Eames takes great joy in rubbing his muddy boots on every morning.

This particular day, Cobb is elsewhere, meeting with some potential contacts and gathering intel and whatnot. Eames sees it as the perfect opportunity to distract Arthur from whatever boring thing he’s doing on his laptop right now.

“Arthur!” he calls in a sing-song voice from behind a pile of boxes, and smirks when he hears Arthur sigh from his desk. “I think I dropped a contact lens back here, be a dear and help me look?”

“You don’t wear contacts,” Arthur yells back, but Eames hears the scrape of a chair then Arthur appears, looking a bit weary. Eames plants one on him as soon as he’s within range, and Arthur purses his lips and attempts to scowl but Eames can see the smile threatening to escape.

They make out behind the boxes for a while, Eames trying very hard to extract the sweetest little noises from deep in Arthur’s throat with some success. Arthur’s nimble fingers touch Eames’s hips through his shirt and inch their way downwards, behind his belt and into his pants, and Eames sighs gently into Arthur’s mouth.

Then Arthur’s phone rings — that same startling ringtone that Eames forgot to change last time this happened. He grabs at Arthur’s pocket to try and steal the phone but Arthur’s already got his hand around it and he grabs Eames’s wrist with his other hand.

“Tell him you’re busy,” Eames pleads. “This is bloody torture.”

Arthur puts a hand on his neck and kisses his earlobe, then walks out to his desk, leaving Eames to shove his hands in his pockets, frustrated.

Eames is honestly beginning to believe Cobb has some kind of spycam set up to keep an eye on Arthur 24/7, because this is becoming Not-Even-Funny.

##

Arthur jerks his knee towards his chest with a breathy half-laugh and nearly kicks Eames in the chin.

“A bit ticklish, are we?” Eames says with a wolfish grin, and grabs for Arthur’s bare foot again. Arthur props himself up on his elbows and rocks into Eames’s thrusts, mouth hanging open and tongue running over his teeth.

“Can you keep it down? I’m trying to enjoy this,” he says, laying on the derision, and Eames’s laugh is rough and short. He holds Arthur’s foot and uses it to spread Arthur wider, to which Arthur drops back down flat on his back and groans softly.

Arthur’s phone vibrates on the side table and plays a generic ringtone, but Arthur barely even looks at it — just keeps arching into Eames’s grip and panting quietly.

“What, you only answer when it’s your boyfriend?” Eames asks, kind of kidding but kind of secretly vowing to actually flay Cobb the next time he sees him. Arthur only _mmm_ s pornographically in response.

Ten minutes later (they’re taking it slow for once), Eames is sucking on a freckle on Arthur’s collarbone and Arthur is making the most delicious noises Eames has ever heard, when the phone vibrates again and _Dies Irae_ assaults Eames’s senses yet again. He lunges for the phone but Arthur’s quicker and blocks him with his thigh.

“Cobb,” Arthur answers, a little out of breath despite his obvious efforts to sound nonchalant. “Nothing, what are you doing?”

Eames glares at the phone and thrusts extra deep into Arthur. Maybe if he can distract him...

“Yes, I mailed them on Thursday,” Arthur says, eyes closed and lips pressed tightly together. “No, they— Yes— Yes, he did.”

Arthur’s like jelly in Eames’s hands but not in a good way; he’s barely reacting to anything and it feels like humping a particularly warm and attractive pillow. Eames pulls out and stalks off to the washroom to jerk off angrily and plot his revenge.

##

When Eames saunters into Arthur’s bedroom, Arthur is already at his desk, reference books, files, and his laptop spread out in front of him. He glances up when Eames comes in, then opens a book and searches for a specific page.

“I have to call Cobb in Germany,” he explains as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contact list. “Apparently he has a guy in a bar right now who’s going to give us layouts for both Synerglobe buildings.”

“Really now...” Eames says, and flops over onto Arthur’s bed, then turns to stare at him when he starts talking to Cobb. He doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their job, but he’s had just about enough of Arthur’s obsession with answering every beck and call when Cobb is the one beckoning and calling.

“Yes, I have it up right now,” Arthur says into his phone, and clicks something on his laptop. Eames rolls over onto his back and takes off his belt noisily, and makes sure that Arthur’s watching from the corner of his eye before he unzips his jeans and wriggles out of them and lets them fall to the hardwood at the foot of the bed.

“Mmhm— That’s what I have here,” says Arthur, glancing at his screen then back at Eames, who hikes his shirt up and slides both thumbs under the waistband of his boxerbriefs and peels them down slowly like a tease. Eames is pretty sure Arthur’s tongue darts out for a split-second to wet his lips, so he shucks his underwear and uses one foot to fling it in Arthur’s direction. It lands on top of a pile of files on the desk and Arthur glares hotly at him, failing rather spectacularly at looking disapproving.

“Just— Ask him to—“ Arthur sighs and Eames knows Cobb is cutting him off like he always does. He also knows it drives Arthur up the wall. “Cobb, don’t you have something to write on? —Then get him to write it down.”

Arthur shakes his head at Eames and Eames smiles at him from under his lashes and walks two fingers down his own chest and stomach, deftly avoiding his crotch and delighting in the anxious look Arthur gives him when he drags the fingers back up his thigh to his bellybutton.

Arthur licks his lips again and turns back to his computer briefly, to read some numbers off to Cobb, but he spins back around to watch Eames as soon as he’s done. Eames sees him shift uncomfortably in his seat and lean back on his chair legs to try and touch Eames’s leg, but Eames moves away and mentally gives himself a point towards victory.

When Eames finally takes hold of his cock and tugs, Arthur lets out an exquisitely accidental noise and immediately flushes from the tips of his ears and clears his throat to try and cover it up. Eames watches him as he jerks himself, and Arthur stares with wide pupils under hooded lids, murmuring agreement to Cobb every so often.

“No, that’s ridicu— Well tell him it’s ridiculous, we’re not spending that kind of money on a shitty tip—” Arthur looks down at his books at that and Eames knows he’s losing him, so he groans quietly, enough for Arthur to hear but not enough to go through to Cobb, and Arthur’s gaze snaps back to Eames’s hand.

Arthur moves in his seat again, then leans over and drops down to his knees on the floor beside the bed, phone still against his ear. When he stretches across to touch, Eames rolls out of reach with a complacent smirk, and Arthur frowns at him and rolls his eyes.

“Cobb—” Arthur starts, and he’s close enough now that Eames can hear Cobb’s metallic phone voice interrupt him and prattle on and on. “Yeah, I realise that— Just get him to write it down— No, listen, I have to—”

Arthur’s flustered now, and Eames is enjoying himself far too much. He’s still stroking lazily, and lets his head fall back to grin at Arthur upside down. Arthur chews on his bottom lip and rolls his eyes some more at whatever Cobb is saying, then tries (unsuccessfully) to touch Eames again.

“Look, Cobb, I really have to— Send it to me later— Seriously, I’m going—” Arthur’s eyebrows are knitted together now and his cheeks are a most alluring shade of pink and Eames can’t for the life of him figure out why the hell Arthur hasn’t hung up yet. He decides on a new strategy and brings his free hand up to his mouth and sucks wetly on his index and middle finger.

“ _Fuck_ — Not you— Look, I’m hanging up, so just e-mail me the— Cobb, honestly, shut the—”

Eames is sure to make those dirty slurping noises he knows Arthur secretly loves, and when he looks over, Arthur looks like he’s about to cry or break someone’s nose, kneeling back on his haunches on the floor with a painfully obvious erection ruining the line of his trousers. Eames arches a little for effect, and Arthur’s forehead presses into the edge of the mattress in agony.

“Cobb, I’m hanging up—” he says, forcefully. “No, shut up for a second— Cobb. I’m hanging up.”

He finally does it, and tosses his phone on the desk before hastily stripping off his pants and lunging at Eames, who pulls him over his lap and spanks him once — not hard, but loud — and that startles Arthur enough to make him laugh, wide-eyed.

“I thought you’d never grow any bollocks,” Eames says into Arthur’s mouth when they’re finally pressed together, and Arthur sticks a knee between Eames’s thighs and grinds his hips into Eames’s groin. “Now promise me you’ll be a good boy and turn that bloody mobile off when I’m fucking you.”

Arthur snorts into his neck but nods when Eames wiggles under him.

“And for christ’s sake, change the damn ringtone.”


End file.
